


u got me so horny

by eternalgoldfish



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove Being Gross, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, College, Dick Pics, Drunk Driving, Getting Together, M/M, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalgoldfish/pseuds/eternalgoldfish
Summary: u got me so hornySteve is pretty sure this text message isn’t for him?Like, 89.5% sure.Because one, the number isn’t in his contacts, and two. Who texts u when they’ve got swipe to text? It’s 2019? Technology has evolved? Maybe it’s stylistic?But mostly Steve is pretty sure it’s not for him, because when he texts back,Who is this?It’s followed by a long pause, and,u kno princessLike, uh. Like, he actually doesn’t? And also, like,Sorry bro you got the wrong number.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 253
Kudos: 955





	1. u kno princess

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, this is all the pieces of my _u got me so horny_ universe on Tumblr. It'll be updated as I add them there. They flow chronologically.

_u got me so horny_

Steve is pretty sure this text message isn’t for him?

Like, _89.5%_ sure.

Because one, the number isn’t in his contacts, and two. Who texts _u_ when they’ve got swipe to text? It’s 2019? Technology has evolved? Maybe it’s stylistic?

But mostly Steve is pretty sure it’s not for him, because when he texts back, _Who is this?_ It’s followed by a long pause, and,

_u kno princess_

Like, uh. Like, he actually doesn’t? And also, like, _Sorry bro you got the wrong number._

Because Steve might have wobbled on the side of heteroflexible a few times in his life -- which Nancy has informed him is _not a thing_ , and _we watched gay porn while you fucked me once_ , but what does she even know? -- but he’s never been drunk enough to give out his number to a dude in a bar, and he’s pretty sure there are no other circumstances in which he would find himself with some dude blowing up his phone. 

He doesn’t leave his dorm room much. He has to study? He’s doing this new thing where he pretends to be responsible.

_stevie_ , the next message reads, _u kno me_

_tell me how 2 cum_

This is sexual harassment? But Steve’s adjusting himself in his shorts, just like, reasonably uncomfortable with a stranger making requests. It’s not hot? It’s just. Itchy.

So is the pic he gets a second later, a thick, slick cock fisted in some guy’s hand, a heavy silver ring on his index finger, thumb working over his slit. Steve’s half way through typing _what the f_ when he recognizes the cross tattoo on the side of his hand, and--

Billy fucking Hargrove is rubbing one out to him. For him, if Billy thinks the pictures and the gross words are a reasonable come on.

And Steve is kind of fucking stupid, because Billy lives on his floor, five doors down, and he faintly remembers him kissing Steve’s neck at a party they threw on their floor last week. Steve had been high as a fucking kite and laughing in a chair in the lounge, beer clumsily held between his fingers, and Billy had been all hot-mouthed and wandering hands when he sat in Steve’s lap. He’d rolled his hips as they spoke, like it was normal to gasp into each other’s mouths, like they hadn’t been throwing punches the first month they shared the same place.

Steve’s got his hand in his shorts, lip bit tight between his teeth.

He gave Billy his number.

_is your door unlocked?_

_y_

Steve’s not sure if Billy means _yes_ or _why_? He’s not sure what he’s actually planning on doing, but he guesses he’s about to find out.


	2. let me in

Steve is standing in front of Billy’s door before it really clicks that he’s going there.

Like, he knows, but in that kind of half-hazy way he gets when his dick is already growing hard in his sweatpants, when he’s not thinking with his whole brain.

There’s a sign on his door that says _Billy_ in glitter-glue, with a messily scrawled Sharpie _FUCK YOU, TOMMY_ under it, and Steve swallows as he tries the handle.

He’s a fucking moron.

He looks up and down the hall, before knocking, kind of clears his throat, and hisses, “Billy. Billy, open the door.”

Nothing. He wants to die. He pulls out his phone, like, _Let me in,_ before knocking again.

There’s a laugh, some shuffling. Steve wants to die. A moment later, Billy pulls the door open, pillow held tight to his crotch and lazy, shitty smile promising exactly what’s under it.

“Holy fuck, you’re so fucking _easy_.”

And Steve doesn’t know what he was even fucking thinking when he decided to get off his ass, but now he’s kind of wishing he _hadn’t_ , because Billy is licking his lips and pulling the pillow away from his body, and the _door is open_ and they’re _basically in public._ He hasn’t really been thinking all night, but he’s definitely not thinking when he shoves Billy inside, or lets Billy crowd him up against the door, kissing his neck.

Billy’s fucking shameless, or maybe unhinged. He rocks against Steve’s thigh, dick leaking between them. “I was thinking more like tits or ass. Or maybe the face. Are you a face guy?”

“What?” Steve asks.

“I asked you how I should come,” Billy says, like it’s obvious. “Or are you the kind of guy who likes it in your mouth?”

Steve wants to let him know that he’s not the kind of guy who likes it _anywhere_ , but he’s standing in Billy Hargrove’s bedroom with Billy Hargrove pulling down his pants, and he thinks it’s a little late to laugh and say no-homo when he fucking invited himself over.

It’s just. Steve is really hard and everything is feeling really complicated.

“Are you gonna touch my dick, Pretty Boy?” Billy asks. “Or were you just coming here to watch?”

Steve reaches down, wraps his fingers around the weeping cock from the photo, likes how Billy gasps in his ear. Likes it more when Billy starts stroking him too, laughs like, “Wow, _King Steve,_ I see why the girls gave you that title.” 

Then like, “You ever choked on a cock, baby?”

“What? _No_ ,” Steve says, sharp, but it’s a little broken, caught by a moan halfway.

Billy comes so fast it should be embarrassing, but he keeps urging Steve on until he’s hissing, sensitive. Takes the come off Steve’s old tee with two fingers and places them on Steve’s tongue.

Steve’s tasted himself before, but this is different, somehow, makes his dick twitch and eyes water. He doesn’t need to be told to suck, comes thinking about the ring on Billy’s index finger, the one slick with lube and pre, probably gummy now as Billy wipes the spit on his fingers off on Steve’s shirt.

“Thanks,” he says, like, “TTYL?”

And he’s fucking obnoxious, and outdated, and not fucking funny.

But when Billy sends a video two days later, like, _want me 2 cum in ur ass or mouth_ , Steve is abandoning his Stats homework, because, like.

He doesn’t fucking _know_ , alright?


	3. megan fox

“Why is someone’s grandma sexting you?” Nancy asks, and Steve has never scrambled so hard to get his phone in his entire fucking _life_.

He snatches it from her fingers like, “Don’t you know what privacy is?”

But the thing is, well. The thing is that he went back to the condiments stand to see if they had Stevia for Jonathan, because he’s on some fucking hippie health kick, and Steve had asked Nancy to watch his phone, because he’s expecting a _very important phone call._ But that phone call is meant to be his mother updating him on whether or not his Auntie Krista has cancer, or if she’s just WebMD’d that shit for the thirtieth fucking time.

_want 2 see u pretty boy_

_send dick pix_

And the thing is, _neither_ of these texts are from his mom, or about his Auntie Kirsta.

But they _do_ include a pic that is definitely a cock, and if Nancy had been brave enough to open the texts, instead of just glancing at the previews as they popped up on the screen -- which he really needs to change -- she would have gotten a lot more information about _grandma_ than she really needed.

Nancy is leaning over the table with her elbow pressed into her women’s studies textbook, chin in her palm, like, “You can just tell us you’re dating someone. It’s not weird, just because we used to date.”

Except it is? Especially because she just said it? And Steve likes to think he’s gotten real good at pretending he doesn’t know _exactly_ what Nancy looks like when she rides his dick, _so_.

(Like, she always tipped her head back as she bounced, moans falling from her open mouth, tits pebbled and red from how he’d sucked them. Her whole body taut with his name.)

“I’m not dating anyone,” he says, and it’s not really a lie.

_ur missing out_

Steve shouldn’t look at his phone with Nancy squinting like that, because he’s got another picture of Billy’s dick popping up on his screen, precome drooling from his tip, slicking up his rings, and Steve knows _exactly_ where he wants to be, _exactly_ when Nancy says, “Seriously, Steve? We’re in a Starbucks, Jesus Christ.”

Billy’s got a new tattoo, barbed wire around his index finger, paired with the crucifix on the side of his hand, like he thinks he’s gonna get to see _God_ or something. That’s way more interesting than Nancy saying, “Wait a second -- that’s not you!”

Like, no, it’s not, and Steve knows he’s in a Starbucks, but his dick is pretty sure it should be in Billy’s hand, and that’s not pairing well with the heat crawling up his chest. He licks his lips and slides his phone into his pocket. Says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Shit, sorry I’m late,” Jonathan says, dumping his books on the table. “Did they have Stevia?”

“Yeah man,” Steve says, throwing the packets across the table.

Nancy crosses her arms over her chest, like, “Do you know any guys with a cross tattoo on their hand?”

As if that’s not the most basic fucking tattoo possible, failing grade for creativity.

“Uh, a few, why?”

“Steve?”

And Steve’s not sharing. “Sorry, I gotta split,” he says. Grabs all his things off the table and stuffs them in his backpack in one choppy movement, almost forgets to grab his half-full Salted Caramel Mocha (half sweet, almond milk, no whip), on the way.

(He’s being _responsible_ , and caring about his _health_ and shit.)

“I think Billy does, that guy on our floor?”

“ _Billy_? Like, the guy with the man bun? _Him_?”

She says it exactly how Steve feels about it, but he doesn’t really care, already out the door. Car keys in hand as he jogs through the rain to his BMW.

_2 late_

In the photo, Billy’s got his dick gripped in one hand, come licking milky lines over his abdomen. Like, _I had to think about Megan Fox. 2009 Megan Fox. You made me come to that._

Because Billy is actually completely fucking capable of full sentences, he’s just _like that_ when he wants to rile Steve up, maybe thinks it makes him sound urgent, and it shouldn’t _work_ , but.

Steve’s in his car in a Starbucks parking lot, phone pointed down as he pulls out his dick. 

Just three jerks and he’s hard enough for the pic to be worth it, sends it fast as he glances out his windows. 

He doesn’t want to tuck himself back into his jeans, would rather sit behind the wheel, move his hand slow until he’s panting, thinking about Billy’s thumbs, his thick ring rubbing over Steve’s cock.

He doesn’t do that. He tucks himself in and rips too-fast out of the parking lot, makes it to the first set of lights before he gets the call.

“You jerk off to me during your date?” Billy asks.

But when all Steve can say is, “It wasn’t a date,” all rushed, too eager, Billy just _laughs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying this series so far.  
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I love hearing what you have to say.  
> Also, I like friends? Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @eternalgoldfish.   
> Lots of hugs and kisses.


	4. I really wanna suck your tits

Steve’s always kind of had a thing about breasts.

Not like, the _size_ of them, or the shape, exactly. It’s kind of a case-by-case basis. It’s not like, the bouncier the better. But if they _do_ bounce, and if they’re not in a bra, and if he can see some nipple through the shirt, _well_.

They’re a weakness, that’s all.

When he was fucking Nancy, he couldn’t keep them out of his mouth. He’d play with her pebbled nipples until they were red and sore, until she was _dripping_ inside her panties from all the attention. Leaking through them, even, as she tried to convince him to move his head between her thighs.

He knows how it sounds, alright? Like, he knows that if he had to explain it, he’d have to start the sentence with, _I don’t have a mommy kink, but --_ but, he likes the smooth swell of them, likes to suck on the bud, tug it with his teeth. Likes having something ridged to roll his tongue over.

Nancy would have bruises that went from her clit, all the way up to her ears.

He’s never really thought about men having nipples. Like, they _have_ them, of course, but he’s never really thought about how it might feel to pinch his as he jerks off, the nubs hard chilled from the faulty radiator in his dorm room. It’s never really crossed his mind that twisting one might make his hips cant, breath wheezy. How pushing out his chest and flicking himself might make him feel vulnerable, and fucking _filthy_.

But his phone dinged three minutes ago, and he’s in a Stats lecture, and he thinks he might fucking cream his pants. Because Billy doesn’t have class until three, and Billy is there on his phone, shirt shucked up to his armpits, nipples pink and hand toying with the bulge in his boxer briefs, and. 

Steve knows which part of this scenario is supposed to make his mouth dry.

Honestly, he knows it’s the whole fucking scenario, but like. _Specifically_ , it’s meant to be Billy’s cock, and his hand, and how Billy has jerked him off five times now. 

What it’s _not_ meant to be is a big fucking awakening, because like. 

Steve’s mouth isn’t dry, it’s drenched. And it’s not Billy’s cock he wants to suck.

(Not that he’s done that yet, but it’s crossed his mind about a thousand fucking times, and Billy loves to stick his fingers in Steve’s mouth, so Steve is _pretty sure_ that Billy knows. But Billy’s all about teasing, and talking big, and)

_u cuming princess?_

Steve blinks at his phone. He honestly doesn’t know what’s happening in the lecture anymore, too busy chewing his lip between his teeth.

_want 2 cum in ur ass_

But _on_ Steve’s ass is the only way he’s ever done it. _On_ his face. _On_ his chest. Just keeps talking big, making promises.

Steve’s never fucked any other guys, so he doesn’t know if this is like, standard practice courtship, or whatever, but he’s pretty sure Billy is going through a lot of fucking effort for some quick handjobs.

Steve takes a picture of the tent in his sweats, tries to be subtle, because, like, he’s already on thin ice with this professor. Not like blatantly walking out of her lecture with a hard-on is going to make that relationship better, but.

He sends the pic without a caption and scoops up his books.

Steve knocks on Billy’s door.

No answer.

Someone’s drawn a dick on a post-it and left it next to the glitter-glued sign with Billy’s name on it, and Steve’s guess is that it was probably Tommy. But maybe it’s a calling card from some other guy, like, _hit me up, I know what you need,_ and for a second, Steve’s stomach swoops, although he can’t place why--

But then the door is clicking open, and Billy’s standing there in the clothes from his photo, hip cocked and a piece of gum working between his molars as he grins. 

There’s a damp spot at the front of his gray boxer briefs.

 _Now_ , Steve’s mouth is dry.

What he means to say is, _we should go inside_. What he says is, “I really wanna suck your tits.”

Billy _maybe_ almost chokes on his gum. “You want to _what_?” he asks, words half laughter. But he’s stepping back and pulling his shirt over his head, an obvious invitation, and Steve would be a moron to repeat himself.

Instead, he steps in and closes the door behind him, dropping his backpack where he’s standing, nose in Billy’s neck a second later.

“You miss me, Pretty Boy?” Billy asks, hands in Steve’s hair like he knows the answer. He does. He leaves all his rings on when they mess around, knows Steve likes the feel of the metal. 

He flexes the peck under Steve’s hand like, “You gonna let me come in your mouth if I let you at my tits?”

“Yeah,” Steve promises. Blurts, really. Because like, _yeah_. He’s been waiting.

“Gonna learn to take my cock, too? Let me fuck your mouth?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Billy falls on the edge of the bed and spreads his thighs, tugs on Steve’s hair for a kiss. It’s all teeth and quick nips, drawing things out.

“You gonna let me do it?” Steve asks, lips brushing. 

Billy’s breath is hot on his chin as he laughs. “Yeah, go for it, man.”

He rests his hands back on the bed, shivers as Steve kisses down his neck, and like. Steve thinks he should be insulted, maybe, because Billy keeps laughing, but his breath also catches when Steve licks over a nipple, so.

It might be projecting, but he thinks Billy’s coiled as tight as he is, light headed as he swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking soft. Like they’re on the verge of something.

He bites, sharp, dick kicking at the hiss Billy gives, and maybe Billy is in the same boat, because his hand is sliding down between them, working slow inside his briefs.

“You’re gonna like my dick so much, Princess,” Billy breathes, “Give you something real good to put in your mouth.”

And Steve _wants_ to say that’s gross, and _wants_ to say his dick’s not leaking about it, but. 

_Yeah._


	5. kind of a slut, for a straight boy

Steve’s starting to think it’s not going to happen. 

Like. It’s _happening_ , in that Billy’s got his thighs spread wide, panting as he strokes himself, gasping slightly when Steve plays with his nipples in a way that he likes, but.

Maybe he’s also sitting on the edge of the bed with Steve kneeling between his thighs, and Steve loves having Billy’s nipples in his mouth, could probably switch between them forever, licking over the nubs, but.

With how they’re pressed close, Steve can feel how Billy’s hand is moving in his boxer briefs, because every stroke has his fist rubbing over Steve’s chest. He _wants_ it. Texted Steve like he always texts Steve, basically begging for it.

But now it’s all slow, drawn out, and.

Steve’s maybe been playing with himself for a while as well, just lazy, one hand wrapped around Billy’s waist to hold him close, the other tucked into his sweats. Mouth roaming Billy’s pecks, moaning at how they feel under his tongue. He knows how he must look, fully dressed, needy, compliant and foolish.

And Billy keeps saying shit like, “Christ, Pretty Boy. You really like this, huh? Gonna look so good with my cock in your mouth. You got the perfect lips for it. Keep dreaming about come all over that fucking pout.”

But when Steve kisses _down_ , thinking maybe this is the part where Billy pulls himself out and rubs his tip over Steve’s face, makes him kiss it, does all the shit he keeps _saying_ , Billy just _laughs._

He pulls his hand out of his underwear to cup Steve’s chin, kisses him like, “Eager, Princess.”

And sucking dick has never really been on any of Steve’s to-do lists, but this is getting pretty fucking stale. His dick is fucking aching, and he’s pretty sure Billy’s is too, and he just. He doesn’t fucking understand, alright?

Because Billy invites him over. And Billy makes promises. And sure, maybe this is only the sixth fucking time they’ve messed around, and maybe Steve has no fucking clue what he’s doing but.

He knows what he wants, for now, at least.

He grabs Billy’s sticky hand, kisses his palm before licking up his middle finger. 

Billy lets him, making eye contact right before Steve presses the tip past his lips. Breathes sharp when Steve sucks.

There must be a whole box of rings somewhere in Billy’s room, but Steve always thinks about the one on Billy’s middle finger. Likes how it feels on his tongue, like the first time they did this. Likes that Billy always leaves it on.

“You’re kind of a slut, for a straight boy,” Billy says, maybe impressed. Mostly like he knows something Steve doesn’t, which is probably also true. “You wanna suck my dick so bad you gotta practice first?”

Steve wouldn’t need practice if Billy just _let him_. Not that he _needs_ practice, or _needs_ to do any of this.

(He’s trying not to think about what it means that he feels like he does, that if Billy doesn’t let him try, it’ll drive him fucking crazy.)

He pulls back, says, “Billy.” Kind of tired, maybe like a prayer. “Jesus Christ, just let me fucking blow you, okay? I’m not trying to do it just because you fucking asked, alright?”

And he’s not even sure if that’s the issue, that Billy maybe feels like he tricked Steve into this, but he doesn’t know _why_ Billy would think that, when they keep fucking getting their hands in each other’s pants, and jerk off to each other’s nudes, and send each other texts like _u got me so horny_.

Billy just sort of puckers his lips a second, jaw working. “You want to?” he asks.

“ _Yeah_ , I fucking want to. I said I fucking wanted to. You’ve texted me that you want to fuck me in the ass like _three times_ , and I showed up all three of those fucking times.”

“Okay, well this other guy--” Billy starts, nearly sneers.

And Steve doesn’t want to fucking think about that guy. Doesn’t like how sour that makes his gut, like maybe he’s invested, or maybe Billy doesn’t want his dick in his mouth, because he’s _saving_ it, for--

“I’m not that fucking guy,” Steve says. “If you don’t want this, then I don’t get why you keep--”

“Jesus, fuck,” Billy says, before grabbing Steve’s head and shoving him down, pushing until Steve’s cheek is pressed against his cock. “Are you going to suck it, or what?”

At this point, Steve kind of wants to know what the _or what_ option is, because he’s so fucking hard, and so fucking pissed off, and kind of wonders if this is how straight girls feel, when their boyfriends don’t know how to make them come.

(Steve is a gentleman, so he _always_ makes sure they do, because his mama raised him right, and it’s _hot_ , and.)

(He’s trying to do this thing where he’s _responsible_.)

(This doesn’t feel responsible. He doesn’t know what the _fuck_ this feels like.)

“Give me some fucking room,” Steve says. 

Billy eases up, but he doesn’t move his hands from Steve, drapes them loosely over his shoulders instead.

Steve swallows and licks his lips, palms himself a few times before pulling himself out, reaching in to pull Billy out at the same time. Somehow this is more compliant, more foolish. Has him nearly fucking drooling.

When he licks over the slit, Billy’s breath hitches, Billy’s hands tensing on his shoulders. There’s a weight in them, a want. A something Steve doesn’t want to name.

His heart beats in his ears as he closes his eyes, hollows his lips and bobs how he’s watched girls do, thinks absently that maybe he should have Googled this. Just out of curiosity. Just in case.

It’s hard to focus when he can’t keep his hand out of his pants, and he’s sure what he’s doing is sloppy, and bad, but Billy keeps scraping his fingers over Steve’s neck, brushing him with his rings, so he knows he must be doing something right.

Even if he comes first, gagging and sputtering on Billy’s cock at the same time, pulling back to cough as Billy laughs.

“You liked it that much?” Billy asks. _Teasing_. Like maybe he thinks Steve is _cute_.

Steve wants to say something smart, like maybe let Billy know he’s gotta wash come off his carpet now, but. Billy’s stroking himself, groaning, wound tight. When he pulls Steve closer and presses the head of his cock to Steve’s lips, Steve knows what to do, licks at the pre, mouths willingly.

Billy doesn’t come _in_ his mouth, but he does come _on_ it, and it’s pretty fucking standard in that way, at this point, but.

Billy also bends to lick the come off his lips, kiss him deep, and.

Maybe Steve’s not mad when he goes back to his dorm room to find an annoyed email from his professor, two missed calls from Nancy, and a text from billy that just says, _slut_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These keep getting longer? I don't know what's going on.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> (And please let me know what you think? I'm a slut for validation.)


	6. gonna beg pretty for me?

The thing is, when Steve is moaning on his back, hands fisted in Billy’s hair, wrecking Billy’s bun, he’s not really thinking with his _brain_.

He’s not really thinking with _anything_ , but it’s definitely harder with Billy’s mouth on his neck, one hand teasing his dick.

Billy’d texted _pls_ and _want u to cum on my cock_ , and Steve thought abandoning his English lit paper on his bed in favour of Billy’s sheets was going to be a fast process.

It never is. He doesn’t know why he still thinks this. But maybe it’s because Billy always warms him up slow when he’s got the time, all hot-mouthed promises and lingering hums. Doesn’t care about Steve’s time, or Steve’s plans, or what Steve thinks he _needs_.

What Steve _needs_ is for Billy to hurry the fuck up, because they’ve been doing this maybe a month, and Steve _gets_ it, he _wants_ it. 

(He _wants_ to get back to his English lit paper, but only because it’s due in three hours, and his mom will kill him if he fails another course, and he’s maybe already on academic probation, and he doesn’t want to flunk out because he can’t keep away from some dude’s hands.)

But he’s not thinking with his _brain_. Not thinking about what it all means, like, “Dude, are you going to fuck me, or like, what is happening?”

Because Billy’s hardly stuck a finger in him, and he’d never really thought about anyone doing that before Billy, but there’s all these promises, and Steve fucking _dreams_ about Billy’s hand tattoos, inked crucifix and barbed-wired index finger. Cold silver rings wrapped around Steve’s cock, how Billy’s cock feels resting on Steve’s tongue.

It’s a lot.

Billy is a lot.

But sometimes, Billy isn’t _enough_. “Just. _Please.”_

“You sure?” Billy asks, hand resting on Steve’s thighs to push his legs open wide.

“Yes, Christ,” Steve says. And he’s not even really sure what he means, hand fumbling for the lube Billy tossed on the bed, keeps tossing on the bed like it’s for show.

“Alright, alright,” Billy says. But he takes his time taking it, mouth roving over Steve’s skin still.

He’s not delicate when he does it. Hoists Steve’s hips up so he can push a finger in, timing it with his strokes.

It kind of fucking hurts, but. Steve’s not thinking with his _brain_.

“This what you were hoping for, Princess?” Billy asks, mouth hot on Steve’s inner thigh. “How you want boys to fuck you?”

And the answer should be some kind of muddled _no,_ and, _not really_ , and _please just fuck me, I just want you to fuck me._

What he says is, “Billy,” and “Yes,” gasped and drawn out as he finds the good in the feeling. Wants Billy closer, sooner.

“Could probably get you to come like this. You’re so _easy._ Never seen a straight boy want dick so bad. Lotta guys think they’re gonna get to fuck me.”

He works Steve as he talks, stretching him, making his chest hot and his breath rattle. Still too slow, starting to be too much. Filling Steve in ways he didn’t know.

“Do they?” Steve asks. Doesn’t want to know.

Billy huffs, drags his teeth over Steve’s skin. “What do you think, Princess?”

Billy fucks him like he’s breakable, like that’s what he’s going for. And the thing is, Steve can hardly breathe, one hand tugging Billy’s hair more out of the elastic with every thrust, one hand wrapped around his own cock. He feels like Nancy, wide and wanting, keening. Didn’t know this was an _option_.

Doesn’t like his ex’s flitting past his eyes with someone else hot on top of him, but it’s not the _same_ , and.

“Gonna make me come so good,” Billy promises. “Shit, baby, you’re so fucking tight. Want me to come in your ass? Gonna beg pretty for me, straight boy?”

And Steve’s not really thinking, so. _Yeah_ , he fucking begs.

The thing is, once Billy’s tied the condom up and tossed it in the trash, he’s a lot less interested in company. “You say you have that paper to write?”

“Yeah, uh.” Steve’s not getting up yet, scanning the floor for what he thinks are his pants. Wonders if this is how it goes, if any of Billy’s other boys wear Calvin Klein's. “It’s due in like, a bit. By midnight.”

“Shit, you don’t have a lot of time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told you.”

But Billy doesn’t really seem to care about that, checking his phone. “This was worth it?”

And it feels so fucking stupid, now that Steve’s got himself back online. “Yes? Christ, I just got off so hard. How can you even ask that?”

Billy’s typing something, and that’s maybe the worst part of it.

“Are you expecting a no homo or something? I’m not gay like you, so I’m faking it?”

Billy looks up, eyebrows pinching. “What? I’m not gay.”

Steve laughs, dry, says, “Sure, okay. Fuck.” He gets up to get his pants.

“You think that because I came on to you, I only like dudes?”

“You think that because I let you fuck me, I only like chicks?”

It’s weird. Uncomfortable. Not what Steve showed up for.

He likes Billy a lot more when he’s smiling like Steve’s a prize, when he’s sending Steve videos, jerking off to his name.

“How about,” Billy says, paced. “You go write that paper, then come back to change my mind?”

The obvious answer should be no, but Billy says it after licking his lips, while he’s reaching for a pack of cigarettes, and they’re not allowed to smoke in the dorms, and Steve only smokes at parties, but there’s something _about_ it. Confused heat in Steve’s belly, tension in his chest.

So he dresses and leaves, writes until twelve seventeen, hands the paper in.

When he checks his phone, he’s got three messages.

_ur ass is fucking sweet prtty boy_

_wanna fuck u soon_

_sorry_

The first two were sent before he’d even left Billy’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally only write these when I need to be writing a paper, and I hate myself? A bit.  
> (I also need to go run like a hundred errands, so. see: I hate me)  
> I hope you all liked this installment!  
> Thank you for reading, as always, I'm @eternalgoldfish on tumblr.  
> And I'd love to hear what you think!


	7. convince me

They’re not fucking in the back of Billy’s car, because they’re too tall, and they’re not eighteen, and their dorm is only five fucking minutes away.

This was supposed to be a fun party. And it was. Steve spent the last few hours drunk and dizzy, laughing and playing beer pong, dancing with some chicks he doesn’t really know, doesn’t think he’ll even remember their names tomorrow.

It happens. You meet people, they’re your best friend for five hours. You take their lipstick kisses, trade Instagram handles, and leave.

This was supposed to be a fun party. But they’re not at the party anymore. They’re in Billy’s car, because Billy had said _let’s go_ and _it’ll be more fun at home._

All he had to do was kiss Steve’s neck, because Steve was drunk, and laughing, and _easy._

But Steve is always easy, with Billy. Always thinks with his dick first and brain second.

(Thinks his heart might be somewhere in there too, but he’s not sure what place to give it, and he’s too drunk to think about it deeply.)

The last time they fucked, Billy had said to come back later, if he wanted. But it was after midnight, and Steve had been tired, and Billy was _hot_ and _eager_ and _sleazy_ , but.

Anyway, it’s been three days, and this party was supposed to be fun, and now Steve is sitting in the passenger side of Billy’s car as Billy blasts through campus, both of them fucking shit-faced, because Steve _wanted_ to get an Uber, but Billy didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to have to come back for his shit, and Steve _should_ have said no, but lately Steve’s been doing anything Billy wants. Everything.

Steve’s kind of hazy, palming himself through his pants, watching Billy drive, and he’s _not_ going to fuck Billy in the back of his car, because he’s not a teenager, and he has about three ounces of self control, but it’s _hard_ when Billy keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, smirking when he takes his hand off the gearshift at a red light to rub between Steve’s thighs.

His rings shine under the streetlights, thick and silver, tattooed crucifix on the side of his hand flexing when he taps his thumbs on the wheel.

He’s trying to look calm, but Steve can see how strained his jeans are, can almost see the car crashing if Billy shifts the wrong way, gives himself enough friction in his own fucking pants to blow his load.

Steve _laughs_.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Billy asks, but he’s grinning.

Steve bites his tongue a second. “Are we there yet?”

“Shit, shut the fuck up.”

“Are we there yet?”

But Billy is laughing too, a little, rosy cheeked. Comes in hot when he parks, nearly throwing himself out of the car as soon as the engine dies. Doesn’t really give Steve time to get out either, crowding him against the car door the second it’s closed, already mouthing at his neck.

“You gonna convince me, Pretty Boy?” Billy asks.

Steve needs a minute to put the pieces together, remember why they weren’t partying together in the first place. That Billy thinks he’s straight. That this is kind of bullshit.

“Are you going to be a dick again?”

Billy hums against his skin, kisses his cheek. Says, “I can give you my dick, if that’s what you mean.”

It isn’t, but Steve’s already got a hand on the fly of Billy’s jeans, and they’re in a fucking parking lot, and they’re _not_ fucking in Billy’s car, when their dorm room is _right there,_ so.

Steve finds himself on his back a lot, in Billy’s room. This time, it’s with his thighs spread, shirt pushed up past his nipples and socks still on as Billy mouths between his bare thighs, Billy’s thumb brushing over Steve’s slit as he jerks Steve’s cock, leisurely, lazy. Like they weren’t so fucking riled up five minutes ago that Steve was debating sucking Billy off while he _drove_.

“I’m going to fucking kill you if you don’t take your pants off,” Steve promises.

Billy’s shirtless, hair nearly out of his bun, but his jeans are still done up tight, wet spot obvious on the material as he straightens up. He pushes Steve’s legs up more by the knees, tilting his head as he pushes them open wide again. Just _playing_ , just fucking around.

“What’ll you do if I take my pants off?”

“You _know_ what I’ll fucking do.”

“So tell me anyway.”

But Steve doesn’t actually know, not until it’s coming out of his mouth, a needy, half-formed thought. “I’m going to _ride you_ , if you need fucking _convincing_.”

Not that Steve has any fucking idea how to do that.

From the way Billy’s breath hitches, it does the trick, though. He backs off long enough to get rid of his pants, giving Steve just enough time to get off his stupid socks, and his stupid shirt, and his stupid fucking _sexuality crisis._

When Billy sits on the bed, Steve gets into his lap, gets him pinned down as their dicks grind together between their bodies. Kisses Billy until he’s breathless, until Billy is fighting for the lube in his bedside drawer.

“You’re going to love fucking yourself on my cock, baby. Won’t be able to get off again without it in you. Might have to get a dildo just to try. _Imagine,_ straight boy Steve Harrington, cock slut.”

And Billy talks a lot, practically fucking rambles the same shit over and over every time they mess around, so it _shouldn’t_ still make Steve’s dick fucking kick, but.

He eases forward and sticks his ass out, letting Billy finger him like this while he gasps into Billy’s hair, and.

It’s fucking stupid, really, that Billy’s the one with a fucking complex, when Steve is letting him do _this_ and puts up with _his_ shit.

He’s too fucking drunk to be riding. He realizes this about five bounces after it’s too late, thighs already quaking as he uses his hands to keep himself upright, anyway he can. He can’t back out now, or he’s a pussy, but he also can’t fall over and break Billy’s fucking dick, so.

And Billy _does_ have a nice dick, not that Steve has any point of comparison. It’s hard to think when he’s moving his hips at the right angle, Billy’s cock slipping in and out of him, Billy’s thick fingers and rings jerking Steve’s cock at the same speed.

All Steve can really compare right now is the way he’s sure he looks, back arched a little, skin flushed, hair stuck to his forehead, and how Nancy used to look, doing the same. How her breasts bounced. How her mouth was always slightly open, hissing soft. How sometimes she’d play with her clit at the same time.

Steve’s nowhere near that fucking coordinated. His balance itself is a two-hand operation. 

Which is why when Billy comes, it’s so fucking startling that Steve falls on top of him.

Because _they forgot the fucking condom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm not dead! idk man.  
> Thank you all for reading! Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.  
> I hope you're all doing well!  
> Feel free to hit me up @eternalgoldfish on tumblr, I love friends.


	8. found ur thong

Steve wakes in Billy’s bed.

Steve never wakes in Billy’s bed.

But the sun is shining, and Steve’s eyes are crusted with sleep, and Billy’s back is warm and solid where it’s pressed against his, their legs touching, Billy’s dorm-issued twin-sized bed hardly large enough for one full-grown man, let alone two. Steve doesn’t remember getting under the covers, or Billy wishing him goodnight.

But the sun is shining, and Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve rolled over an tucked an arm around his waist, pressed kisses into his neck. Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve curled them together and called him _baby_.

They’re wearing underwear, so at some point, they got out of bed. 

It’s not that Steve doesn’t remember _anything_. He remembers sitting in Billy’s car -- almost _jerking off_ in Billy’s car. He remembers whining against Billy’s lips with Billy inside him -- Billy’s hot thighs between Steve’s legs, Billy’s fingernails digging into Steve’s hips.

He remembers _falling_ on Billy, which. The universe couldn’t have let him get away with one bit of dignity in all that, huh? 

Up until that point, he thought he’d been doing pretty fucking well, thank you very much.

Billy’d laughed and laughed, and pulled Steve on his side, and jerked Steve off until Steve was gasping and coming, toes curling, feeling drunk, and eager, and _toomuchnotenoughpleasedon’tstop_.

There’s just a gap in time there, clearly, because fucking into Billy’s fist doesn’t equate to waking up in his sheets.

So, Steve stays like that, back to back with Billy, wonders how much time he has until Billy wakes up, asks him to leave. Wonders how it could go if he pressed a kiss to Billy’s shoulder, danced his fingers over Billy’s arm hair, flicked his foot a certain way. Unlikely butterfly theory shit, and all that. 

Then Billy fucking rolls over and wraps an arm around him, giving him a sleepy squeeze. “Dude, why’re you still here?” Billy asks.

And _that’s_ a fucking mixed signal, Jesus Christ. But Steve has been thinking _exactly_ the same thing, so, “If you didn’t want me to stay--”

“What?” Billy lets go of him and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His bun is a lop-sided disaster, but the pendent resting against his chest is gold. “It’s Friday,” he says. “You have economics at ten, or whatever, don’t you?”

And Steve _does_ , but.

“Fuck,” Steve gets out of bed and scrabbles for his phone in his jeans, says, “Fuck,” because it’s nine forty-two.

“Bye?” Billy offers.

“ _Fuck_.”

Steve’s skipped classes before, but the thing is, his mom has been _wild_ lately about his grades, and he’s _kind of_ bombing economics, so it’s _kind of_ fucking important that he gets there on time, and that he actually fucking listens and takes notes, and behaves.

He’s five minutes late, but he gets there, which is kind of the point.

Not that his mind is on economics.

He’s too hung over, too weirdly wired. There’s something under his skin that he can’t itch, and for once it’s not his dick chubbing up in his jeans because Billy is sending him nudes before lunchtime. 

(Although his phone _does_ keep lighting up, so.)

(He thinks it’s maybe his _heart_ chubbing up, and that’s definitely not good for his cholesterol, or the sticky notes left on Billy’s door, or what he’s supposed to tell his parents when they ask about his love life at Christmas.)

When he checks his phone, there are no nudes, just two texts that say,

_found ur thong princess_

_goin 2 jerk off w it_

And Steve has no fucking clue what he could have even left at Billy’s, but it definitely wasn’t a thong. He actually doesn’t even think it’s _anything_ , just another one of Billy’s weird ways of making him fuck up in class, but it still twists something in Steve’s chest, something weird-bad. Like thinking about Billy’s other guys when they fuck -- and other girls, apparently, girls who wear thongs, so.

Steve texts back, _Not mine, sorry, must be your mom’s._

Billy doesn’t text back a long while, so like, maybe he’s blown his load, or maybe he just thinks Steve is boring for not playing along. Whatever. Steve has like, actual things he needs to be doing.

But with half an hour left in class, Steve’s phone finally lights up, like, _My mom left when I was ten_.

And well. What? _What_? Steve didn’t know that, doesn’t even know how Billy feels about that, like, if he’s angry, or upset, or fucking like, _anything_. He tries to scroll up through their conversations looking for an answer, but he’s coming up with nothing, just raunchy one-liners and sweaty dick picks. Billy’s barbed wire and crucifix, sandy skin, golden hair.

He doesn’t know a fucking thing about Billy. 

How Billy’s dick tastes doesn’t count.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t. Like a fucking coward. He slinks to the library after class like maybe things’ll just _work out_ if he lets them cook for a while. Like _maybe_ all the weirdness from this morning will gloss over if he pretends it didn’t happen.

No cigar.

Billy flops into the chair across the table from him like this is nothing, normal, and Steve guesses it _is_ , because they do study together, sometimes, but not together-together, so. Billy’s not even taking out his books, just tipping his head slightly and running his tongue over his teeth.

“Sorry?” Steve offers, like a moron.

Billy scrunches up his nose. “Sorry for what?”

And Steve doesn’t really _know_ , so. 

After a pause, Billy huffs and pushes back his hair. He’s got tacky diamond studs in his ears, the kind that make Steve want to tug on them with his teeth, see what they’re really made out of. Billy crosses his arms, says, “Guess I didn’t tell you about my fucked up family, then?” and they might as well be in the fucking _Twilight Zone_.

“No, uh,” Steve clears his throat, winces slightly. “We haven’t really had time?” Between all the fucking. Yikes.

“Well,” Billy sneers, like, “My mom flaked, my dad is an abusive asshole, my step-mom might as well be a cardboard cut-out of a human, and my step-sister is a huge fucking bitch. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The thing is, in person, Steve can’t just leave Billy on read when he doesn’t know what the fuck to say, so he’s stuck just kind of staring, mouth partly open, running through all the whats and whys and hows. Processing months knowing Billy, fucking Billy after a party, waking up in Billy’s arms, and now whatever the fuck _this_ is.

“You know what, fuck this.”

“Wait--” Steve snaps his books shut as Billy gets to his feet. “Sorry? Just. Sorry, I guess. Fuck. I just didn’t know what to say to that earlier, you know? A _thong_? That text might not have even been for me.”

“Who else could it have fucking been for?”

“I don’t know? Someone else you’re--”

Billy laughs, kind of mean. “I’m not hooking up with anyone else, you idiot. What was it you said, I ‘haven’t really had time’? I could have had anyone I wanted at that party.”

And Steve knows that, even though Billy is contradicting himself. Knowing it’s not making it any fucking better. Kind of just makes Steve want to die.

“But you wanted to fuck me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to fuck you.”

They’re talking way too loud for being in the quiet study zone.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?”

“I kind of want to punch your face in.”

Steve lets out a slow breath. “Cool, so we’re just back in fucking September again.”

Billy snatches his keys from where he threw them on the table and grabs his bag from the floor. “Shut the fuck up, come on.”

But Billy doesn’t punch him when they get outside the building, like he might have in September. He crowds Steve up against the wall, pushes Steve’s shoulders until his head hits brick. With the way the stairs jut out, there is just enough space between them and the hedges that they _probably_ won’t get seen, and Steve’s worried about no one finding his corpse for about five seconds before Billy’s lips are on his, kisses all clicking teeth and fingers digging into his sweater.

It should make him angry.

It’s kind of erotic.

(It’s kind of _confusing_ , but Billy’s slipping his hand into his sweatpants, and they’re kind of in public, and Steve _really_ doesn’t need a criminal history, but)

He bucks against Billy’s palm, wants his hands on Billy’s skin. Wants to think this is maybe a solution, with Billy’s teeth grazing over his neck, Billy laughing softly in his ear.

“You like to get off in public?” he asks, and Steve is pretty positive he’s shut that down about a million times, but Billy’s kissing him in earnest, playing with his cock, and well.

Steve can’t exactly hide how fucking hard he is when things are already this far gone.

“You got something to say to me, Pretty Boy?”

Steve tugs on Billy’s hair. “Like what?”

“A sorry, maybe, since I’m being so forgiving.”

“I said sorry,” but it’s shaky, kind of airy. “If the campus police--”

“Guess you better be quick, then.”

And Billy is confusing, disgusting, infuriating, _gorgeous_ , and Steve is a complete _dumbass_ , so he whines, “C’mon, I’ll blow you in my room--” which absolutely does not work.

“Or you could blow me here.”

Which Steve is definitely not going to do, but the idea makes his breath catch, has him moaning softly as Billy tugs on his bottom lip. Faintly, he realizes he had more resolve when he was drunk than he does now, and that’s not something he really wants to investigate, not when he’s unzipping Billy’s jeans and jerking Billy in return, heart thumping and skin tingling each time the library door opens and slams shut.

Billy’s teeth are on his cheek, breathing hot in his ear, murmuring, “Someone is going to hear you,” like Billy isn’t also making noise with every breath, fucking into Steve’s hand like they’re on a clock. Like he’s trying to get Steve’s hand fucking pregnant.

“Sorry,” Steve says, mostly a gasp. “Sorry, sorry.”

Meaningless. Billy doesn’t need it, can’t with how smug he is when Steve comes first, with how he almost breaks their cover laughing when he wipes Steve’s come on the inside of Steve’s sweatpants. He comes with his nose in Steve’s neck, hands gripping Steve’s hips, and it’s. 

Well, it’s kind of mortifying.

But Billy is laughing again, knocking away Steve’s hand so he can fix himself back in his jeans, and Steve _should_ be angry, but.

“What was that about blowing me on your rich boy sheets?” Billy asks.

They have to change their pants now _anyway_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, have more plot than normal maybe, sorry for the wait  
> (eternalgoldfish? more like eternal SCREAMING, 2020 has been a year, i am happy to be back)  
> thank you so much for reading!  
> please feel free to hit me up @eternalgoldfish on tumblr  
> hugs and kisses  
> feedback is always appreciated  
> brb while i fall back into my existential crisis


	9. r u up

Billy’s just being weird, is all.

And like, Steve’s not _trying_ to think of it as weird, because _technically_ the way Billy is acting is really great. Like, 10/10, would request this version of Billy again.

It’s just not really what Steve has come to expect, given like, the _rest_ of it.

Like, it’s not _normal_ for Billy to hit him up at ten in the morning like _r u up_ , like he thinks it’s midnight and like Steve hasn’t been trying to convince himself to get out of bed for the better part of an hour. 

It’s not normal for Billy to knock on Steve’s door a few moments after he’s sent _yeah_ , or for Billy to even be in Steve’s dorm room in the first place. Billy’s always the one riling Steve up, waiting for him to come running. Feeding him breadcrumbs like candy.

This isn’t that.

This is Billy with his bun still fucked up from sleep, teeth barely brushed, pushing Steve up on to his hands and knees when he’s pretty sure Billy is supposed to be getting ready for a class. This is Billy breathing hot on Steve’s neck, fucking him into the mattress while the sun shines through the open window.

Steve thinks that maybe his neighbours can hear, if they’ve also got their windows open, but. That’s not _really_ important when he’s rutting his dick against the pillow stuffed under his hips, moaning with his mouth pressed into the sheets. Listening to Billy ramble, “Fuck, baby. You’re so hot. Knew you’d want it. So _easy_.”

Billy grips Steve’s thigh with one hand, fingernails and golden rings digging welts into freckled skin, so close to Steve’s cock that Steve feels mad with it. Feels over-needy as he pushes back against Billy’s thrusts, humps his pillow like a desperate teenager. Aches for stimulation on both sides. Feels like he _needs_ Billy. 

And Billy came in here first, dick kind of hard in his sweats, kisses too eager to be coy as he got Steve back into the sheets, so he knows he’s not alone. The saint Billy wears around his neck bounces around Steve’s back as they move together, tracing cool paths over his hot skin, making him shudder.

After they both come, Billy takes his time playing with Steve’s hair, spends what feels like an eternity running his fingers over Steve’s skin before he bothers to throw out the condom. Says, “Don’t you have a class this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Don’t you have one like, right now?”

Billy shrugs, reaches for his phone, makes a face. “Yeah, at eleven. Fuck, I gotta go.”

This isn’t the same as oversleeping, or losing track of time. Steve rubs his hands over his eyes as Billy wipes his dick on one of Steve’s t-shirts.

So yeah, it’s a weird morning.

After an hour of sitting in Starbucks, slowly sipping their drinks and tapping computer keys, Jonathan asks, “So, still seeing grandma?”

Steve squints his eyes at Nancy. She just thinks she’s _so_ funny. “Did you tell that joke to everyone?”

Nancy just smiles, sweet. Says, “I was traumatized. It was a coping mechanism.”

Yeah, _hilarious_. Steve takes a sip of his latte, glances at Jonathan, wishes he had something less petty and defensive to say than, “We’re still fucking. Which you’d know, if you guys ever wanted to hear about him.” 

(Although, given who Nancy is, and who Billy is, he has _kind of_ been trying to keep the worlds apart, you know, like, just a _little_. So maybe it has been _months_. Steve’s had a lot on his plate.) 

Nancy always reads him like a book, raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t need him to elaborate. “He’s your boyfriend. We didn’t think it was right to pry if you didn’t want to tell us about him.”

Billy’s not his boyfriend, but somehow voicing that feels like dropping an anvil on his foot or putting a nail into his coffin, and he’s absolutely not going to investigate that, because it can’t be good for his heart health.

(Neither is his triple venti caramel macchiato with toffee nut _and_ vanilla, but this business paper is really killing him, it’s different.)

“You don’t seem to be having an issue with that right now,” Steve says.

Jonathan gestures vaguely at his own neck. Says, “Dude, you’ve got a ton of hickies.”

Which Steve _realizes,_ thank you. “And you’re a ton of cliches.”

“Does that really make sense?” Nancy asks, scrunching up her nose, at the same time the barista calls out, “Grande Americano for Billy?”

Jonathan points over Steve’s shoulder. “He’s also looking at us.”

And well. Fuck. Steve twists around in his chair enough to catch Billy’s eyes, returns his sort of half-wave as Billy grabs a lid to snap on to his drink. 

Billy ambles over like, “How’s the study date going?” Smiles toothy, over-sweet, thinks he’s being charming or some shit.

“It’s not a date,” Steve says, at the same time Jonathan says, “Badly.”

They’re all fucking _comedians_.

“You got room here for one more? I’ve got to kill an hour while my car is in the shop.”

And Steve doesn’t know why he wants to say _no_ , not when, “Sure,” is already tripping over itself to escape his mouth. Not when something small and eager is expanding in his lungs like a balloon, spreading like Billy’s arms around him first thing in the morning, echoing like all the times he’s thought of Billy’s other men.

Billy takes the empty seat next to him and pulls out his laptop, elbowing Steve a little as he does it, and like.

Forget about a weird morning, it’s a weird fucking day.

He’s absolutely right, by the way. After about twenty minutes, Nancy looks like she’d rather eat an entire bag of nails than ever talk to Billy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot? More plot??  
> Thank you all so much for reading, you're a bunch of babes. Your kindness makes me weepy.  
> As always, feedback is loved and appreciated.  
> And feel free to hit me up on Tumblr @eternalgoldfish!


	10. prostate exam

Somehow, Steve’s on his back again. Which would be fine, except, well. He’s _pretty sure_ this wasn’t what they’d agreed on, when he was sweet talking Billy on the way back from the cafeteria, Billy shoving him along after a late dinner, both of them basically _jeering_ one another.

He’s pretty sure that Billy had said, Y _eah, fuck yeah_ , when Steve had grabbed his collar in the hall, crashed their lips together like, _I wanna fuck you, baby. Can I fuck you?_

They’ve always had slightly different love languages, (not that this is _love,_ ) but Steve thought he was being pretty assertive. You know, like, using his words and _I_ statements and all that. Clear consent. But Billy’s got Steve naked and pinned down, got Steve’s thighs spread wide and their dicks moving together like Billy might just shift his hips and take what he wants. And it’s _hot --_ the idea of Billy inside him -- but it’s not what he _wants_.

It has his dick twitching like it always does, makes him wonder why he spent so many fucking years pretending gay porn didn’t do it for him. Makes him fuck himself with his fingers sometimes when he gets off now, thinking about how he could get some on camera to send to Billy. Maybe thinks about how fucked Billy would be if he opened a text like that in class, how Steve would get fucked after.

 _Normally_ , that would be great, perfect, but.

He runs his hands up Billy’s chest, groans in his mouth, tugs his hair. Talks against his lips like, “Can’t wait to finger fuck you, baby,” just trying to get things back on track, “Wanna be on your knees for me?”

Billy seems to freeze, like maybe he forgot. Or like maybe Steve fucked up, didn’t _get_ something. Billy lets out a slow breath. Steve’s stomach drops right through the bed and hits the floor with a wheezy squelch, thinks _for sure_ that he’s killed this, even if he doesn’t know how--

Then Billy’s bending down for another kiss, slow, grinding their hips together. “Want you to blow me when you do it,” he says.

 _Oh_. “I can do that.” Steve breathes.

Somehow, Billy’s the one on his back now, legs shoved up as Steve kisses him, and it’s. Well, this part isn’t new, but Steve feels over-hot as he kisses down to one of Billy’s nipples, knows Billy’ll let him suck it as long as he wants, knows Billy _knows_ him. Feels like his skin might vibrate off in anticipation, sweat half nervousness as he scratches his nails over Billy’s thighs.

He doesn’t linger, although he wants to. Doesn’t want to miss one opportunity for another. He takes Billy in his hand and strokes him twice, mouths just the tip a moment. Billy moans like maybe he’s going to throttle him.

“Are you going to do it, or what?”

Well now, haven’t the tables fucking turned.

“Patience, patience,” Steve says, letting go to fight with the lube, so when he takes him in his mouth again, he can press into Billy with his other hand.

Billy stiffens, takes a sharp breath that _maybe_ isn’t the kind Steve wants, that _maybe_ has Steve worried, but it’s followed by, “Are you gonna fingerbang me, or are we practicing a prostate exam?”

Because apparently nothing shuts him up.

Around his fingers, Billy is _tight_ , and Steve’s fucked himself open enough to tell the difference now. He takes his time to work Billy over, but that doesn’t mean he’s slow about it. Before long, Billy is cursing, fingers welting Steve’s shoulders and dick leaking in Steve’s mouth, breath catching like, “Think I’m good. Get off. I want it from the back.”

Steve doesn’t scramble, exactly, but the way he moves isn’t dignified. He almost drops the condom getting it on, which is just ridiculous. For a second, he kind of forgets what he’s even meant to be doing, brain too caught on how Billy looks on his hands and knees, back arched a bit as he pumps his dick, waiting. Blond curls stick to his neck and shoulders. This close, peering over the skin of Billy’s back in a way Steve’s never really seen before, Billy’s got tiny scars, tens of them, maybe a hundred.

“I’m not going to beg, pretty boy,” Billy says, canting his hips back, almost sounding a little _mean_. Fucking strung out. “You need me to show you where to put your cock? Maybe fuck it for you?”

“No,” Steve says quick, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth. Brain lag, maybe. 

Billy reaches around to stick the tips of his fingers in himself, and it’s definitely brain lag. Billy’s like, “Or I can still fuck your _pussy_ , if you’ve changed your mind.”

They don’t even say shit like that, really, but it gets Steve moving, mouth bone-dry as he knocks Billy’s hand away and lines up, pushes in.

It’s. Not to be dramatic, but Billy’s ass just taking him is maybe one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. Ever _felt_. Maybe has him a bit nervous that he’s going to come on the second thrust. 

Billy also wasn’t fucking lying. He’s not chill about the way they move, rocks his hips to meet Steve’s cock with the same fervor as when he’s got Steve bent over the edge of his bed, pants still around one leg and socks still on as Billy fucks into him. He coaxes Steve the same way.

“You really like this, sweetheart?” Steve nearly-teases, breathless between moans and forehead pressed to Billy’s back. 

“Like making you my bitch,” Billy says back, half groan, half low-laugh. “Are you going to beg to come in me, princess?”

And unlike Billy, Steve’s never above begging.

They don’t talk about it, after. Steve thinks they probably should, thinks this probably means something bigger, that maybe they should do some of that sharing shit they’ve started doing, because maybe that’s healthy. But Billy’s grabbing shorts from the floor and stepping over to the window with a cigarette, and Steve is warm and sleepy, blankets sloppily tugged over him, and it’s just _easier_.

They’re going to have to talk about something, eventually. When Billy gets back in bed and wraps his arms around Steve from behind, they don’t. 

When Steve realizes he doesn’t need to ask to stay the night, he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another? Surprise!  
> (There is absolutely nothing to do with Halloween in this, but happy belated Halloween?)  
> Thank you all for reading. As always, feedback is very appreciated.  
> Also, I love to chat? Feel free to hit me up @eternalgoldfish on Tumblr!  
> And I hope you're all doing well!


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